


In a way, it was Him

by MaidenM



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Double Agents, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-23 09:18:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9649475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaidenM/pseuds/MaidenM
Summary: In a way, Reaper was around years before the fall of Overwatch.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes I hate plotbunnies, keeping me up at night and distracted throughout the day... Anyway, here's one interpertation on the whole "Reaper has been sighted for years" shit. I just needed to get it out of my head.

In a way, he was in his element.

 

Reaper moved through the darkness as if it was part of him. Heavy boots came down without a sound, not even the faintest rustle of his uniform gave him away. In the emptiness of the building he might have imagined himself alone. His intel said otherwise.

 

As he crept to the lower levels, ghosting down stairways silently as a whisper, the interface of his mask lit up. His target was near now. His shotguns hung heavy in his hands, a familiar and comforting weight. It grounded him. Reassured him.

 

Reaper found the rat's nest deep in the basement, the pitiful creature had barely set up any defenses. The dark room was lit faintly by various screens placed around the area. The poor thing was hunched in front of one of them.

 

He wasn't a bad man. He wasn't good either. He was just your average person who managed to piss off the wrong people and knew a little bit too much.

 

_ Or maybe quite a bit too much  _ , Reaper thought as he looked over the screens, still secure in the darkness. He saw glimpses of maps, names, even faces. Talon would be reeling from the damage for months if any of this got out.

 

In a way, this was his calling.

 

The resounding crack of his shotguns caused the poor man to panic, shot after shot tearing through monitors and computers as Reaper advanced. The whimpering was expected. The tears were expected. Reaper found himself impressed that, even though that too was expected, there was no begging. This man knew Death when he saw him.

 

"Talon sends their regards," he rasped, his voice modulator giving him an almost otherworldly tone. He pulled the trigger and his mission was complete.

 

Once the victim had been reduced to a corpse he set out to trash the place. Everything was shot, crushed or otherwise destroyed. Information that could have saved lives flickered and died under his violent rampage.

 

In a way, this was  _ necessary  _ .

 

Satisfied, he radioed in. His kill would be confirmed by a Talon agent and his payment would be transferred in segments to several different accounts. Blood money. It still made his skin crawl slightly, but not as much as it used to. With any luck, he'd never get used to it.

 

Darkness once again became him as he left – fled – from the building. The man's sobbing echoed in his skull, as they always did after he did this job. Moving carefully through the night he escaped his thoughts, his conscience and his heart.

 

Hours later, after being certain he was not followed, he arrived at the watchpoint. Unmasked and unarmed, his gear stashed away in a safe location that no one knew of but him. His eyes darted to every face he encountered on his way to his quarters, repeating every name he remembered to himself in an effort to occupy himself. Anything to keep his mind from wandering, keep his chest from tightening.

 

How many of the flashing faces would he meet in the days to come? How many of the names from the decimated lists would he read again?  _ How many of his people could he trust? _

 

Finally –  _ finally  _ – he made it to his room.

 

He closed the door behind him, shutting out the reality of the world. He felt cold, numb to his own existence. He looked around, trying to find something that would comfort him as his guns would. Something that would tell him he was right, that he was doing what no one should go through but someone  _ had to  _ .

 

Nothing in this room worked. Nothing in the room was  _ his  _ .

 

He was a ghost. A spectre. A figure only seen through the corner of one's eye. A pretender who glared at the world through his mask, watching and wailing and  _ waiting  _ even as everything crumbled around him.

 

Who could comfort a masked phantom, other than another one?

 

He dashed out of the room, quickly moving through the halls with purpose he hadn't dared find in a long time. He needed something. Something that was his. Something that would always be his. A rock to hold on to during the oncoming storm.

 

He arrived at his destination within minutes, punching a long-ago memorized code into the keypad. The door opened and he stepped in. Once he made his way to the bedroom and saw the mop of blond hair sticking out from under the blanket Reaper breathed in and Gabriel Reyes breathed out.

 

Cold fingers tangled themselves in the bright hair, heat spreading through them like ink in water. A faint tingling overcame the numbness when blue eyes blinked in the darkness, a soft smile peeking out from the bundle of cloth.

 

"You're back," Jack whispered, as reverently and softly as a prayer.

 

Gabriel leaned down, pressing his lips to the Strike-Commander's temple and breathing in the man's scent. Jack.  _ His  _ Jack. Warm hands found their way around his neck, fingers carding through his hair as he was pulled down into a kiss.

 

Climbing onto the bed as they kissed, he felt himself relaxing, belonging. Once again he was both awed and frightened by the comfort Jack brought him. No matter how stained his hands where, no matter how dark his heart would become Jack always brought him back from the brink. He feared, and expected, the day he would turn around and find his love gone.

 

His clothes were stripped of him, each item taking some of the crushing weight with it. His lover's touch sent ripples of glowing heat through him, colored ink dripping into once-clear water. He ran his hands over his beloved's chest, half expecting to leave dark red lines in their wake. Jack, ever his shining angel, remained unmarred.

 

"Tell me," Jack breathed as Gabriel palmed him through his underwear, cheeks ruddy and eyes gleaming. "Tell me what you need..."

 

Roaming hands stripped them both of their last pieces of clothing, open-mouthed kisses trailing over their skin.

 

_ I need to know...  _ Gabriel thought.

 

Jack gasped when he gripped his member and pumped it slowly.

 

_ I need to know you'll still support me. _

 

His free hand slipped under his lover to grip his behind.

 

_ I need to know you'll still love me. _

 

Jack pulled him into a searing kiss, grinding against his hands. Up against one, down against the other.

 

_ I need to know you'll be here. _

 

Breathless moans slipped from them both as they slipped into their familiar dance. Both of them gripping each other tightly, grounding one other to themselves.

 

"Gabe?" Jack whispered.

 

"I need..." he started, pausing to thrust deep into his beloved, "I need you to hold me," he breathed over Jack's moan, "I need you to remind me..."

 

Jack's eyes met his, the blond's lips parted slightly as he rocked back onto his lover.

 

"Remind me why I agreed to this fucking thing."

 

In a way, everything was going according to plan.


End file.
